The Shoes
by Nova-chan
Summary: The adventure of Holmes and Watson as Holmes searches for his missing shoes and Watson trails along. A segway between "The Adventure of the Buried Detective" and its currently unnamed sequel.
1. Chapter 1

Marill: This was supposed to be a humorous oneshot to bridge "the buried detective" and the sequel, but I got a little carried away with it and it has now become a fic in its own right. Humor is my mainstay, and it's a good therapeutic process while I brainstorm the more serious sequel. Having that said, this is a comedy, and like all my comedies, it will be slightly OC and hilarious. Enjoy!

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A week since Holmes' rescue had passed, seemingly an eternity to Watson, who had played the parts of concerned physician and gatekeeper interchangeably. Holmes was entirely insufferable, especially after reading each morning's paper. The detective in question would often make serious demands for trivial items, such as a glazed crueller one particularly stormy morning. While Watson went out to generously appease his invalid friend's wishes, Holmes would practice walking in secret, an activity that was absolutely forbidden in the doctor's presence. By the fifth day of such nonsense, Watson had caught on to the little burlesque and, throwing his hands up in the air, had given Holmes permission to do whatever he liked.

"But that will be the last time I go to an obscure pastry shop for your amusement!" he had promised.

Upon day eight of Holmes' convalescence, a news article struck such an angry cord in him, he launched himself off the settee, intent on setting the matter straight.

"Watson, get your coat," he demanded.

Watson, sitting at his desk, only moved his eyes to look at Holmes. "Am I going somewhere?" he wondered.

"You will accompany me to Scotland Yard so that I may throttle Lestrade." Holmes made animated and threatening gestures with his good arm, the swiftness of which was a great contrast to his achingly slow walk to the door.

Watson walked over to the couch to see what in the newspaper had upset his friend. "That does not seem a likely possibility, Holmes," he said gently. "It takes you nearly an hour just to make it into your bedroom."

Watson scanned the paper while listening to Holmes' grumbling in the background. An article which was severely wrinkled, having been crushed in Holmes' fist, read "Inspector Lestrade rescues inept Sherlock Holmes. Holmes grateful."

Watson glanced at Holmes, who was struggling valiantly with his overcoat. Sighing, the good doctor assisted his friend, knowing that nothing was going to change Holmes' mind now.

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Marill: Quite short, and not much humor yet. But, stick around for more! And, yes, the actual sequel will be much less superficial and will contain psychological elements, as well as all the other things one would expect after going through what Holmes did.


	2. Chapter 2

Marill: Moving right along…^^

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Holmes made quite the spectacle of himself upon arriving at Scotland Yard. His arm became tangled up in the pullcord on the carriage's curtains, which jerked him backwards and laid him out on his rear when he tried to exit the carriage.

"Good Lord, Holmes!" Watson exclaimed, having heard Holmes' cry of surprise, followed by a thud. "Are you all right?"

Holmes had painfully jarred the bones in his broken wrist, and had caused every other part of his anatomy (particularly his bruising backside) to angrily yell at him. It wouldn't do to let Watson know all that, of course. "I'm fine, just a physics problem," he grumbled.

Watson ambled off to retrieve Holmes' walking cane, which had spiraled out of his hand and down the sidewalk. "You really should be more careful, Holmes," Watson admonished, only half-kidding. He attempted to help his friend stand up, but Holmes was being particularly stubborn and independent.

"Watson, I am perfectly capable of exiting a cab without your advice," he hissed, looking like a newborn fawn trying to gain its footing. "There just happened to be several circumstances that hindered me on this singular occasion."

"Such as your arrogance when you scoffed at my offer to help you in and out of the cab?" Watson mumbled.

"Oh, just pay the driver and then catch up with me." Holmes started off in his tirade toward the police headquarters.

Watson carefully counted out his money and thanked the driver graciously. He took one step and was caught up with Holmes.

"Watson, I shall require another shot of morphine," Holmes admitted. Even he could not ignore his slow progress.

"You've already had two substantial doses this morning, Holmes," Watson reminded him. Then with a touch of concern, asked, "Is it hurting you that badly, old boy?"

"No, Watson, the previous doses have taken the brunt of the pain. The issue is that my leg is rather stiff and I am…concerned that I may pitch forward onto the ground if I walk too quickly," Holmes answered, carefully.

"Morphine isn't going to help with that."

"On the contrary," Holmes said. "If I have more of the substance in me, I will not be quite so worried about falling."

"Holmes…"

"Watson."

"Perhaps it would be easier if I just fetch Lestrade and bring him to meet you," Watson suggested.

"Oh, why certainly," said Holmes, dripping sarcasm like tar. "Why don't you just bring him all the way to Baker Street while you're at it?"

"Actually, that might have been the best approach…"

Holmes glared at Watson and increased his limping pace toward the building just for the spite of it. Fortunately, he did not fall.

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Marill: Holmes has kind of turned into House (M.D.) with the limp and all. I so didn't plan it that way, though, lol.


End file.
